


Joan

by AndAri



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Emotions, Flush Crush, Genderstuck, Genderswap, Laboratories, Love, Love Confessions, Love Triangles, all the emotions okay, best bros, im trying, let me try at least
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-17
Updated: 2016-09-17
Packaged: 2018-05-24 02:19:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6138037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndAri/pseuds/AndAri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>--DISCLAIMER--First things first. GingerSammyBatch. Amazing writer. This is a continuation of their work. The original story can be found in the "inspired by" section, and since this is a continuation, nothing will make sense if you don't read Ginger's work first. Thank you.--</p><p>Now for the actual summary:<br/>John Egbert never thought to worry about becoming a girl. He was only worried about staying alive long enough to be join by the alpha players and defeat Jack before he could have managed to kill the survivors he was living with. Then again, anything can happen when playing SBURB. After playing around in a lab, John managed to turn himself into a girl with no way of knowing how to turn himself back. This causes hell to come in a hand basket like little girl scouts with cookies. John's companions try to unravel the mystery surrounding his transformation.  John experiences unfamiliar changes that are taking place in his body and is not happy with them. He isn't the only one who isn't able to cope, of course. Dave Strider has begun to find his best friend hard to be around, especially when he denies all possible attraction he might have for the derp.</p><p>Original summary by GingerSammyBatch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ch.7: Continuing The Story

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Joan](https://archiveofourown.org/works/442216) by [GingerSammyBatch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GingerSammyBatch/pseuds/GingerSammyBatch). 



> \--DISCLAIMER--First things first. GingerSammyBatch was not a co-writer in this story, but this is a continuation of their work. The original story can be found in the "inspired by" section, and since this is a continuation, nothing will make sense if you don't read Ginger's work first. Thank you.--
> 
> Disclaimer will be included in every chapter. Wether at the beginning or end will vary.  
> -  
> I AM A GIRL MYSELF. I am NOT making fun of girls with John’s behavior, I am simply writing what I personally think he would act. When John has mood swings, I am only depicting what happens to me, and how it feels (when writing from his perspective). ALSO, I do not mean to make any chapters short. If they are, thin of it this way-- sometimes a short chapter with a good close is better than one really long chapter that just ever seems to end. THANK YOU FOR READING THIS NOTE, and this story in general, I know the original was much better.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> \--DISCLAIMER--First things first. GingerSammyBatch. Amazing writer. This is a continuation of their work. The original story can be found in the "inspired by" section, and since this is a continuation, nothing will make sense if you don't read Ginger's work first. Thank you.--
> 
> Now for the actual summary:  
> John Egbert never thought to worry about becoming a girl. He was only worried about staying alive long enough to be join by the alpha players and defeat Jack before he could have managed to kill the survivors he was living with. Then again, anything can happen when playing SBURB. After playing around in a lab, John managed to turn himself into a girl with no way of knowing how to turn himself back. This causes hell to come in a hand basket like little girl scouts with cookies. John's companions try to unravel the mystery surrounding his transformation. John experiences unfamiliar changes that are taking place in his body and is not happy with them. He isn't the only one who isn't able to cope, of course. Dave Strider has begun to find his best friend hard to be around, especially when he denies all possible attraction he might have for the derp.
> 
> Original summary by GingerSammyBatch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by Joan by GingerSammyBatch.  
> \--DISCLAIMER--First things first. GingerSammyBatch was not a co-writer in this story, but this is a continuation of their work. The original story can be found in the "inspired by" section, and since this is a continuation, nothing will make sense if you don't read Ginger's work first. Thank you.--
> 
> Disclaimer will be included in every chapter. Wether at the beginning or end will vary.  
> -  
> I AM A GIRL MYSELF. I am NOT making fun of girls with John’s behavior, I am simply writing what I personally think he would act. When John has mood swings, I am only depicting what happens to me, and how it feels (when writing from his perspective). ALSO, I do not mean to make any chapters short. If they are, thin of it this way-- sometimes a short chapter with a good close is better than one really long chapter that just ever seems to end. THANK YOU FOR READING THIS NOTE, and this story in general, I know the original was much better.

You are now Dave Strider.

You cannot control your best bro, and as what might be ironic karma, cannot control your fucking man hormones in return.

Why does this game have to be so difficult?

Why does this game have to screw with your head like this? With your _friends_ like this? This game fucking sucked, that was a fact, it still is and it will always be.

Maybe someone should have written a more detailed review in “GAME BRO MAGAZINE”. They could’ve displayed the logo, and on it, a big red stamp print reading _“If you play this game ur best bro will turn into a chick and you will swoon and it will p much ruin your life.”_

Because that’s what it does.

And thats what it did.  
-  
You’re in the cursed hallway that was plastered with mirrors since the day you found it. The hallway where John realized what that chemical had done to him. You have been in this hallway many times with John, and none of them that you can recall were actually _good_ times. 

You hadn’t seen John since the “shorts” incident, and the “why is there so much blood?” incident. If you were going to be honest with yourself, you could say you’ve been avoiding him because you needed to keep your hormones under control. But now you were face-to-face with him, and the tears forming on his already red eyes. You had been wandering the halls, wasting time like the Knight you are, and you had heard a girl crying. Thinking it was possibly Jade—not your newly-turned-girl-bro—you came down the hallway to see if anything was wrong. Something was wrong, of course, centered mostly around the fact that your best bro was a girl now, and that the solution to this issue wasn’t coming anytime soon.

He seemed to be crying over nothing but his reflection which was crying back at him, although you knew from living with girls that, this wasn’t the case at all. At least, not the whole reason he was crying. You did not only know what it was because of the yells you had heard earlier that morning, (“SHIT. THAT’S A LOT OF BLOOD. _WHY IS THERE SO MUCH BLOOD?_ ” was one of the tidbits you could make out, following “I HAVE LADY BITS?!”) But that fact wasn't helping your situation.

John had gotten away from the mirror he was looking into, and paced in front of you, instead, eyes red from tears shed only moment before. “I—,” his voice raspy from crying so much that morning without talking, “I don’t even want to think about it, but here I am _talking_ about it! I—” His tears got the best of him once again, as he took a deep breath, “I’m not _me_ —I’m a monster, a-and I’m a disgrace, I—” 

“Hey, dude, it’s gonna be okay.” You said, interrupting his negative thoughts with your own. You mean it. Nothing unfixable was happening,—yeah sure it would take a while to fix, but it was fixable—and there was no way you would stop looking for the cure (could you call it a cure if you liked it…? No, no way, this was bad, not good.) There was no way you were loosing your Trademark Strider Face right now, nothing could beak your Strider-cool. “Come ‘ere,” you said, approaching your friend… You looked at him as you hugged him. You were lost in his embrace, and how his new long hair was uneven but still fell so perfectly—WHOA WHOA WHOA. OK. MIND, WE TALKED ABOUT THIS. JUST. FRIENDS. Just friends, totally not swooning or anything. Totally good. Totally.  
-  
You had walked John back to his room, hugging him the whole was there. He was constantly mumbling things like “I’m sorry,” when there was nothing to be sorry about. He kept saying “I just don’t understand,” whenever you had left the science alone for long enough that he had succumbed to his negative thoughts once more. Honestly, you didn’t understand either, but there was no way you were saying that out loud, it would ruin your calm-cool-Strider-streak.

Once back in his room,—with John still recovering from his meltdown, red eyes, shaky voice and all— you sat him down on the bed, crouched, and looked him in his bright blue eyes. “John?”

He didn’t look up, so you said his name once more, in hope of finding his blue eyes looking at yours, “John? Look at me.”

You didn’t blush. Nah. Nope. o blushing was coming from you, at least. But the nerd looking at you wouldn’t be able to tell, because he wasn’t paying any attention to your cheeks—not even your face in general. He was looking your eyes when you finally grabbed his attention, gaining the stare of his watery, blood-shot blue eyes.

He had stopped sniffing and mumbling when he noticed you reaching for your dark, reflective shades. He knew shit was serious because you never took off your shades. Ever. Being photosensitive sucked, but as a fucking albino, it wasn’t rare for you. You wore your shades _24/7_ , to protect yourself from the light—shit could be beautiful sometimes but it cold also be as harsh as the devil. Imagine the baby sun from the Teletubbies but imagine it was a spawn of satan that wished for your eyes to dry up like raisins for their 100% Evil oatmeal-raisin cookies. Anyways, there was a reason you took them off, and that reason was to show John how fucking serious you were with what you said next.

“John, you are not a fucking monster, and you are not a fucking disgrace.” Your body told you to add something else, to console him into feeling better, but you just couldn’t—He is “Not a homosexual” anyways.  
“Just because you’re a girl for a little while doesn’t mean your not my best bro anymore, got that?” Hopefully he did, because your eyes were staring him down and your words were as serious-sounding as a fucking lawyer signing some contract with his one good fountain pen or someshit.  
Moral of the story: you were fucking serious.

John could only stare in response—at your red eyes—and you couldn’t blame him, because you were staring right back at him. You were lost in the blues and aquas that were scattered across his irises, the way they collided, seemingly having wars with each other over which beautiful color should show more that day. The constantly changing blues in his eyes cold have even represented the tragic everlasting beauty of Skia itself, with all the power they seemed to contain. You tried to ignore the warming of your cheeks,—fearing they could near the same shad of red as your eyes, considering how pale you were—only to notice John’s cheeks were also pinker than usual. Wait, _why should that even matter?_ It doesn’t, right? Yeah. It doesn’t. Hey, at least he was calming down.

You decided to be the one to break the silence that had fallen in between you two, “John, you are my best fucking bro, and that will never change. It is a universal-fucking-constant, believe me, I made sure of it.” You actually did. These are no pompous lies escaping your mouth. John and yourself being best bros _was_ a universal constant. And nothing would ever change that. Not if you had anything to do with it, which you wold make sure you would. “Also,” you said, your tone calming down a bit, “what in thee world makes you think you’re a disgrace? A _monster_ no less?” You didn’t think before the next fractured sentence left your mouth, but as you said it, you went with it, maybe you could make it sarcastic? “Damn chemicals gave you a pretty sweet bod, I know I wouldn’t be complaining as much as you are—“ You were cut off. Not by sound, not by yourself, and not by John. Well, not verbally at least, the sheer loudness of his blushing—and him punching you in the shoulder, which only hurt as much as a memory-foam pillow would—and the nervous giggle that followed your dramatic topple to the ground.

“Man down, man down!” You jeered, almost smirking—almost. Seeing as you had gotten John in a better mood almost instantly, you decided you didn’t regret that sentence as much as you originally would’ve. You wanted to continue to get his sprits up as much a you could. John came to your side, kneeling next to where you were laying, face-up, tilted his head and giggled—damn his laugh was ni—NOPE.

The floor was just as cold as it was tiled, just like the rest of the laboratory’s floors. The lights, you guys had turned down, in respect of the Troll’s also photosensitive eyes, but it didn’t help much for you, and right now you swore they were brighter than usual, the room a little warmer, given the mood. _Wait, the lights didn’t seem brighter because of the mood,_ you realized, your shades were on the Heir-turned-Heiress’ face. _Oh, okay that makes more sense._

“You shouldn’t have taken these off!” John teased, getting up and running around to the other side of his bed to keep away from you, as you stood up.

“C’mon man,” you fake-begged, shading your face from the not-so-bright lights that hurt your eyes even still. “I need those.” You felt for maybe a split second you might have smirked—the second time that day, a new record—but only for a split second, but you cold tell John had noticed based on the sudden rush of wind that spun his hair, and ruffled your cape and loose shirt. As the wind swirled, John grinned. He grinned the trademark-bucktoothed Egbert grin he always made, the sight was strange yet comforting. Comforting because that meant he was happy, but strange because your brain registered that smile as belonging on someone else’s face, a dorky, geeky, nerd teenage boy’s face, to be more specific. It didn’t belong on this sweet, gentle looking teenage girl’s face. You realized you were staring a little to late, just as John was next to you, putting your shades back on your face, telling you that you had ruined the fun. You were startled at the next thing he asked, and the wind that swirled once again with your hormone’s response (yes), and you swore at that moment if your hormones were a person you would kill them. You don’t know if you’ll survive the next two hours, Nic Cage isn’t even an ironically good actor.

“Wanna watch a movie?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT:  
> Ok. I will no longer give you guys a firm schedule to rely on because last time I posted was February and it's September and I said once a month. Wowowowow way to go me, right? Anyways, as of 9/16/16 (today, for me anyways,) the next chapter should be out in a few days, if not, hours. I just need my betas to go over it and then it's done! 
> 
> So sorry again!
> 
> Although I will promise no schedule because I apparently suck at that--I can promise that it won't take me basically the whole year to get get another chapter out. I can only y promise this because now I have a ton of free periods and stuff and I can write during those times and I can basically just carve this shit out.
> 
> Anyways.
> 
> I'll see you guys next chapter! Ciao!
> 
> \--AndAri ( www.and-ari.tumblr.com www.andariart.tumblr.com )


	2. Ch.8: Slip of the Tongue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your name is Dave Strider, and you fucked up.  
> At least you apologize.  
> ————  
> You are John Egbert.  
>  _John_ Egbert.  
> ...Right?  
>  You watch a movie with an unexpected ending.  
> ————  
> You are John Egbert, and you need to take a moment to look yourself in the mirror.  
> The person who stares back isn't you.  
> ————  
> You are John Egbert, and you have great friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKIE DOKIE  
> HERE WE GO  
> We're gonna have some trust things in this chapter, we are gonna have some Nic Cage in this chapter, we are gonna have some Windy Thing in this chapter, and we are gonna have some junk food and movies in this chapter!
> 
> ITS BASICALLY EMOTIONAL OVER-DRIVE. (RE: mood swings, periods, ect.) [no actual periods in this chapter tho]
> 
>  
> 
> _here's a quick disclaimer; you guys know the drill:_
> 
>  
> 
> **DISCLAIMER: The original story was written by GingerSammyBatch on AO3, and I am simply continuing it for my own reasons. I found this story and really, really loved it! And then I found out it was discontinued! So i’m adding onto it. If the original author wants me to stop, I will. I am only posting this for others who have read the original and need an ending, (or simply a continuation) thank you! Enjoy!**

You… Are still Dave Strider. And it’s 9:02:30PM, according to your internal clock. You’re just too cool to switch people yet, and you know it. But you know who’s not cool? Nicholas Cage. Especially in National Treasure. It’s got to be his worst movie (besides Con-Air, of course.)

You don’t understand why John likes him so much. He’s not even ironically good. While watching National Treasure with John, you make sure to add as many terribly ironic and movie-ruining comments, remarks, and questions, such as:

 

_“Why does he even want to steal it again?”_

  
_“Who is this dude anyway?”_

  
_“I could have figured that out faster than him.”_

  
_“How slow is he?”_

  
_“This dude needs help. Real help. Someone ask Rose to do the therapist thing to him.”_

  
_“Seriously get Rose—John go get Rose. This guy’s delusional.”_

 

None of these things even fazed John, he only shooshed you every other comment or so, because he was so engaged in the movie. Shit was ridiculous. Shit _is_ ridiculous.

And what’s even more ridiculous is that you find yourself staring at John. You’re about to mentally slap yourself, but the way the light coming from the movie shines on his glasses and lights up his face keeps you staring. You wish you could see his eyes in this light. You wish you could lean over the small sofa you two were sitting on and take his glasses off. You wish you would _stop thinking of your best bro like that— **UGH.** _

Fucking _fuck_.

You finally get to slapping yourself mentally and whip your head back to facing the T.V. in a very un-Strider-like manner, causing John to notice.

“Uh… Dave, everything okay?” He asked, having only noticed the movement and not it’s direction. You almost sigh with relief. You don’t.

“Everything’s chill. But a Strider’s gotta eat, Egbert. Wanna go alchemize some pizza or something?”

John was looking at the T.V. again, after you said you were chill there was no reason for him to worry anymore. “Yeah, sure, whatever. After the movie.”

After a few more minutes of watching the helpless movie try and grasp at creativity like a baby grasping for air—‘cause babies do that weird shit a lot, and this film looks like it was raised by the wrong guardian or something—you can’t take it anymore.

“John let’s go make pizza.”  
No response.  
“John c’mon let’s get pizza.”  
A dismissive wave of a hand, from a now slimmer wrist.  
“John. Pizza. Now.”  
Not even a glance.  
“John, do the pizza thing.”  
Nada.

 

You keep referencing who knows how many movies and books you’ve read in the name of irony, an attempt to get John’s attention to no avail. You think maybe you caught yourself falling asleep, but no way. Striders don’t just pass out in front of their best bros while watching terrible movies.

Behind your shades, even after quitting your attempts of getting your bro’s attention, your eyes begin to droop.

“John I’m so uncool. Ironically uncool of course.” Your voice is no louder than a whisper towards the end of your sentence.

“Yeah, yeah Dave,” John says, still not looking at you. You can recognize out of the corner of your eye, the climax of the movie coming to be. Such a terrible film. Does it even need to be said again?

“Egbert. Pay attention to your best bro when he’s talking to you,” you notice some very slight mental bitterness on the words ‘best bro,’ which doesn’t make any sense to you, as you’ve been best bros with John since you were maybe twelve.

You keep talking to the unresponsive dork still watching the movie. “John, i’m passing out. This is so uncool. Don’t let your best bro be uncool on your watch, Egbert.”

Your eyelids continue to force you into longer blinks, urging you to fall into the sleep that they wish for so much. “John. Bro. Don’t do this. Don’t make this happen.”

You don’t get even a little sign of acknowledgement from John before your eyes close in what was supposed to be a blink, but stays for far too long to still be considered one.

“John?” No response, “‘kay i’m passing out in the name of irony. Just for you. You should feel as blessed by this as you would be if the Pope himself said your name was cool. Just as blessed.”

The same response as before is received from John. Which is none. How surprising. He really likes this Nic Cage dude, doesn’t he?

Your words begin to slip into the same sleep as your mind, and you bid John your most ironically graceful bid farewell possible with your state of mind, while resting back against the small couch, with your eyes closed, and shades still on your face.

“G’night John.” And you fall into an ironic sleep.

This lasts for about three point fourteen seconds, according to your internal forever-ticking clock. And that’s because you fucked up.

You didn't say ‘John.’  
You said ‘Joan.’

————

 

**————** ** gardenGnostic ** **[** ** GG** **] began pestering** ** turntechGodhead ** **[** ** TG** **] at 7:00PM ————**

** GG: daaaave! stop avoiding me silly!**

**———— ** **turntechGodhead** **[** ** TG** **] joined the chat ————**

**TG: no**

** TG: you need to chill the fuck out**

** TG: then you can come talk to me**

** TG: you need to stop going on about all this bullshit and get to the point**

** TG: im not gonna run around in circles with you harley**

** GG: okay! okay! i just didn’t want to seem rude is all! :/ **

** GG: we need to talk about john.**

** TG: no fucking shit **

** TG: harley how slow do you think i am**

** TG: you realize i am a time player right**

** TG: i legitimately can be faster than you at anything**

** GG: :| **

** TG: wait maybe youre the slow one **

** TG: so much more makes sense now**

** TG: i have seen the light jade**

** TG: dont come back for me im already too far off**

** GG: dave! stop being such a meanie! ://  **

** GG: i can tell its bothering you just by the way you're typing!**

** TG: what **

** GG: you're changing the subject so quickly! and you're avoiding the topic! its really obvious. . . :((  **

** TG: no **

** TG: okay what if i am**

** TG: can you really blame me**

** TG: i mean**

** TG: how would you feel if the game that basically ruined your life and blew up your planet turned your best bro into your best**

** TG: what would you even call that **

** GG: your bestie!!! :D **

** TG: uh **

** TG: no **

** TG: not using that**

** TG: not even ironically**

** TG: thats just wrong**

** GG: daaaaavvee **

** GG: we've changed subjects again**

** GG: stay on topic silly! ): <**

** TG: wow very intimidating **

** GG: ugh! just listen dave! **

** TG: fine whatever **

** TG: im all ears**

** GG: we've been having some issues with john so i just wanted to let you know about them **

** TG: what the fuck **

** TG: for how long**

** GG: not for long! **

** GG: they're just kind of. . .**

** GG: triggering to him? :| not sure how to phrase it exactly**

** TG: to phrase what **

** TG: harley just cut to the chase**

** GG: we've been trying to help john get a little more used to himself **

** GG: herself?**

** GG: its confusing :/**

** TG: been there done that **

** TG: what did you do**

** TG: stay on topic**

** TG: god what a dramatic role-switch**

** GG: it kind of back-fired? **

** TG: . . . **

** TG: what do you mean**

** GG: well. . .  **

** GG: we tried to keep calling him joan to see if it would make him feel better but it just made it a ton worse and now its like his trigger word?!???!??!?**

** GG: we thought it would help! honestly! rose said it might!**

** TG: harley **

** TG: jade**

** TG: you knew he hated that**

** TG: and you guys just kept calling him it**

** TG: what the actual fuck**

** TG: thats such a dick move**

** GG: we didn't know this would happen! D: **

** TG: you said it was roses idea right **

** GG: dave! no! its really okay! **

** TG: not from what youve told me its not **

** TG: actually it seems that now its a whole lot worse**

** GG: its okay! really! :\ **

** TG: is it really **

** GG: just dont call him joan! **

** TG: well thats not hard **

** TG: but you still pretty much traumatized my bro**

** TG: so you will be getting payback harley**

** TG: feel lucky that john is trying to get me to watch this terrible movie right now**

** TG: aka this striders gotta ditch but youre not out of trouble yet**

** TG: youre gonna need a fucking doctors note to get out of this one harley**

**————** ** turntechGodhead** **[** ** TG** **] ceased pestering** ** gardenGnostic** **[** ** GG** **] at 7:18PM ————**

** GG: bye dave! **

** GG: remember;**

** GG: dont call him joan!!**

**————** ** gardenGnostic ** **[** ** GG** **] ceased pestering** ** turntechGodhead ** **[** ** TG** **] at 7:21PM ————**

 

**————**

 

You weren't paying attention to Dave.

Not until he said your name.

You, thinking back on it now, think you might have been more mad at yourself for responding to that name than him saying it. But just by a little bit. Because you were really mad.

Really, really mad.

You heard him mutter, with the smallest voice he’s ever worn, “G’night Joan,” and that’s when you lost it.

To be more precise, it took you a couple seconds. Maybe five to seven seconds, but you wouldn’t really know, you are a Breath player after all.

You paused, mentally and physically at the name. You felt like you should respond, but at the same time you shouldn’t. Because you are not Joan. Joan Egbert is nobody. She doesn’t exist. John Egbert on the other hand, is who you are.

Dave looses his sleepy, un-cool attitude surprisingly quickly, and takes on a new un-cool role, when he fumbles to try and cover up his words.

It takes him a second to think of something to say.

“Uh, I-I mean—Uh, John, yeah, John, wanna go alchemize some pizza? Yeah. That. Wanna do that? This—uh—this movie sucks, and it’s over anyways, so,” he says while the credits roll on screen.

Your face twists. Your not sure if it was a grimace or a frown or what. It just twisted up into a knot and then stretched itself back out. You dare looking over at Dave, your face no doubt    looking like you had been stabbed in the back.

It almost felt that way.

But it left a sour taste in your mouth. You're not sure if back-stabbing calls for that.

“I,—“ you start, mouth dry but still sour, and voice cracking.

Dave just stared. He just stared and you just wish he didn’t. You wish that he hadn’t.

“What—…what did you say?” You ask  this without bitterness in your voice. You ask this, rather, with a pang of sadness flooding your chest and spreading onto your words as they barely make it past your lips.

“Look John,— _John,_  it was a mistake, a slip of the tongue, I'm sorry—“ Dave stutters at his own words, eyes obviously glancing around your features even behind mirror-shades. 

“A—… A slip of the tongue?” You question, thinking of his words very carefully. “Like—…like a freudian slip?” Your throat feels rough, and it feels sore. Your cheeks heat up as your voice continues to crack, “I—I’m John, Dave, it’s _John._ ”

“I know, John, I’m sorry I fucked u—“ Dave doesn't get to finish his sentence before you start tearing up, red-faced, and he cuts himself off. He stares, hands in the middle of a motion that always accompany his words when he’s flustered.

You don’t know why you crying if you're mad. Mad people don’t normally cry do they? Normally only sad people cry, you conclude quietly, and to yourself. “You—…You called me—… You called me Joan?” You speak between tears and coughs.

“Look I—“ Dave starts again, but you don’t want to hear his excuses.

“You… called me Joan.” It’s not a question anymore. You remember him saying it, and you shiver slightly. It’s not a memory you're going to be fond of, you think to yourself. “I—“ can’t handle this anymore. You know you can’t, so you stop. You stop yourself from speaking, and crawl over to your bed, grab the nearest pillow, and curl up into a ball while hugging it.

You think Dave apologizes once more but you cant hear him over the muffling effects of the pillow. You are grateful for that.

Your glasses mush up against your changed face as tears flow out of your eyes. You're really just surprised, and a little mad, maybe even a little upset but nothing that you think warrants crying! It’s all really intense inside your head and you don’t know why but you feel kind of like screaming at Dave? Is that right?

But maybe it is the right thing to do. He was the one person that hadn’t called you that yet, besides Karkat, but even Karkat almost said it once. The pain you feel is similar to an emotional stab in the back, at least, you think that might be the right way to describe it. It’s hard to think straight when you're crying so hard, and you're frustrated at yourself for crying, but then your mad?—Sad?—Smad. You're smad at Dave and at the game and at your tears and that the movie isn't longer (even though there are sequels) and it all mixes together into words before you can even realize it. But all of it is directed at Dave.

“I—I thought I could trust you!” You half-yell, mouth moving without the consent of your brain.

“John—you can it was _just a mistake—_ “ he tries, quickly and desperately, his shades slipping without his notice, his face warming up to challenge the red of his eyes.

“No! It wasn't a mistake! Bro’s don’t call bro’s names they hate by _mistake,_ Dave! It doesn’t happen!” Your mouth keeps moving, your thoughts stuttering and hitching along with your breath and your tears, “I thought I could trust you! You called me—You—Do you see me as different now?” You yell, now in full volume, as Dave’s flush goes unnoticed by you.  “I—Do you not see me, as _me_  anymore?” Your voice becomes small at the end of that, and only then do you notice the wind that had picked up in the room—how it is now calming down, yet still violent—and only then do you look up to realize Dave’s shades are in his hands, and his irises that are too red to be human—yet still impossibly so—are surrounded by a shiny pink. Is he—is he about to cry? You think this to yourself as his mouth moves, desperate, but you hear no sound come out. The wind is moving the sound he makes away from your ears—respectably enough, because you honestly don’t want to hear another word out of his mouth. For all you know it could be—it could be that— _that name_  again.

Only as you shout for him to leave the room, and to leave you alone do you realize you're hovering a couple inches off the bed, warm wind swirling around you in an attempt at comfort. Your now long hair is swirling with it, but it doesn’t bother you. At the moment all your attention is turned towards getting Dave out so you can’t hear his venomous blade-like words anymore.

You subconsciously still think this is an overreaction, but you are too far deep to realize that anymore.

Dave doesn’t move for a couple seconds,—no doubt he’s counted them exactly—his eyes wide and his frame seemingly paused in his rare upright stance, vulnerable yet thinking.  You pause as well, taking deep breathes, staring at him.

Dave unfreezes and makes a hand-sign in the air. It’s the only one you know, besides ‘hello,’ ‘thank you,’ ‘you’re welcome’ and ‘goodbye.’ 

It’s the sign for ‘sorry’.

As he moves his closed hand in a circle on his chest, you remember Dave telling you that it also means ‘apologize,’ and ‘regret.’ You feel the ghost of the symbol on your own chest, as he leaves the room with his eyes on the floor.

You crumple atop your bed, the wind throwing blankets on you, as you once again begin to cry.

It takes you round an hour before you get the guts to pester Rose about it. 

 

**————** **ectoBiologist** **[** **EB** **] began pestering** **tentacleTherapist** **[** **TT** **] at 10:40PM ————**

** EB: rose? **

** EB: rose i think i messed up. **

** EB: i messed up and i was angry and sad and i’m still angry and sad but now it’s more sad because i made the mistake i made? **

** EB: i’m really confused about all this. **

**————** **tentacleTherapist** **[** **TT** **] joined the chat ————**

** EB: i said a bunch of things my mouth wanted to say but not my head? and now i’m crying? **

** EB: rose! **

** TT: John. **

** EB: i need help, rose. **

** TT: I can tell. Do tell the whole story, if you will, so I may get the whole picture? **

** EB: yeah, okay. **

** TT: Try to stay calm as you remember, as an emotional filter is what we try to avoid in telling stories as such. But do feel free to tell me how you felt——as that is what I am analyzing after all, isn’t it? **

** EB: yeah i think so. **

** EB: okay so dave and i were watching national treasure with nic cage, and it was towards the end-ish, and dave kept saying he wanted to alchemize pizza i think?  **

** EB: i wasn’t really paying attention. **

You proceed to explain the whole situation to Rose. You make sure to include all the emotions you didn’t understand. You tell her that your mouth and your mind were disagreeing on so many different things. Then you begin to cry again, remembering everything that happened. How you yelled at Dave, unable to control yourself, along with how he apologized. And how his apology hurt you.

 

** TT: John, you may not wish to accept this, but I do believe it might have been a simple ‘slip-of-the-tongue’ incident. **

** TT: I also understand that you have concerns on wether or not this was a freudian slip, but I believe not because his behaviors haven’t seem to have had a drastic change towards you as far as I can tell. **

** EB: i guess. . . **

** TT: I also strongly suggest that you take into account that it is that time of month on your newly-changed biological clock, and that things like hormones can effect your behavior and how you perceive things during this time. **

** EB: rose! **

** TT: John, we all learn to deal with it in time. **

** TT: The conclusion is, and will remain to be unless something proves otherwise, that Dave is still your friend, and simply made a mistake due to his nonchalant exhaustion, and departing consciousness.  **

** TT: I also conclude that his apology was not meant for you to feel regret, as you may have interpreted it.  **

** EB: so it was for himself? **

** EB: like he regretted it? **

** TT: I do believe so, yes. I also believe that it was his apology, but seeing you cry for what could be the first time —— at least in person —— might have been a bit shocking on him. **

** TT: And with my presumed theory that he has had issues speaking in the past and has trouble producing sound on it’s own, could support the notion that he was communicating in a way he does when he is unable to produce words for himself. **

** EB: okay i think i understand. **

** EB: thanks rose. **

** TT: May I ask you a final two questions John? **

** EB: uh, sure? **

** TT: Are you still in your room? **

** EB: yeah. **

** EB: why? **

** TT: Are you still crying? **

** EB:. . . **

** EB: just a little bit..? **

** TT: Wait right there. **

**————** **tentacleTherapist** **[** **TT** **] ceased pestering** **ectoBiologist** **[** **EB** **] at 11:17PM ————**

** EB: what? **

** EB: uh, okay? **

** EB: bye? **

**————** **ectoBiologist** **[** **EB** **] ceased pestering** **tentacleTherapist** **[** **TT** **] at 11:18PM ————**

 

You think about what Rose said. You think about how she said it was really just a slip, and how Dave is still your friend. That Dave can still be your best bro. You consider it, and decide against agreeing with your mind—which is telling you to never speak to him again, that now that you’ve changed, he’s changed too. You decide to only avoid him for the time being, so you can calm yourself down and think properly.

You stay curled up on your bed, with blankets and wind keeping you warm as you calm your breathing.

Once your breathing has steadied, you contemplate _it_. You contemplate _the name._

Joan.

You test it on your tongue, in your voice, limiting yourself to a whisper, for fear that you might be able to trigger even yourself with the name.

You don’t die, so that’s a plus.

The name fits your appearance, you think to yourself. It fits the curves and slimness of your changed figure. It fits even the new pitch to your voice,  and the new length of your hair. The name fits the softness to your angles, which you despise.

You hate with all your heart that the name fits your body, because it does not fit your _being._ The name fits your picture, but not your _mind._  

It infuriates you. It infuriates you to no end that everyone is going to see you differently, because they are literally seeing you differently. You wish you could blindfold them all. At least Terezi thinks you smell the same. Although it’s a weird thought, it’s almost reassuring. You still smell like blueberries and mint, even if she says it’s spearmint, now. 

You end this weird train of thought by making a decision.

You need to get used to the name, because that’s how they see you. That’s how everyone sees you now. As Joan.

The only people now allowed to call you Joan are Rose and Kanaya, because they are helping you with the girly things, but _only when_  they are helping you with the girly things. And even then they need to use it with caution because you think it might be your new trigger word.

You take a deep breath, and pull out your PDA.

You pester Dave.

 

**————** **ectoBiologist** **[** **EB** **] began pestering** ** turntechGodhead** **[** ** TG** **] at 11:31PM ————**

** EB: dave. **

** EB: i’m sorry i freaked out. **

** EB: we can still be best bropalhonchos but i’m going to need some space for a little while, okay? **

** EB: i just want you to know that i think i can forgive you. **

** EB: only rose and kana can call me that now, though. **

** EB: if you do it again i can’t guarantee that i won’t freak. **

** EB: sorry again. **

**————** **ectoBiologist** **[** **EB** **] ceased pestering** ** turntechGodhead** **[** ** TG** **] at 11:34PM ————**

Dave never responds.

There’s a knock at the door.

Your head perks up at the sound. You don’t get to finish the question in your head of who it might be when the door opens and Rose and Jade barge in.

When you take a closer look you realize that they have pillows, blankets, and junk food with them.

A _ton_  of junk food.

There’s mainly chocolate-based junk food, and you feel yourself wanting to eat them before you can even recognize the brand or type. 

Wow that’s weird. Really weird.

You get up and approach the pile of blankets and pillows they start assembling on the floor, “what are you guys even do—“

Before you can finish your question you realize a pile of movies sitting next to your own, mostly covered in pink and other bright colors, and you also realize Jade is shoving something into your face. 

“Don’t worry about it! Just go put this on and we’ll get started once you’re done!”

“Uh…,” she wiggles the handful of fabric in your face once more, “okay, okay. But you better explain yourself once i’m done, okay?”

“John, when do I not explain myself?” Rose asks from behind Jade, hands on her hips, smirk on her face.

“Whatever,” you say, walking into the bathroom and locking the door behind you.

Once you enter the bathroom, you examine the articles of clothing.

You recognize them as pajamas. A pair of girls boxers, which are basically just light P.J. shorts, and a dark blue light-weight, low-neck, T-shirt.  Upon further inspection, you see that the shorts have a scattered pattern of a symbol you know very well—the light-blue symbol of Breath. After inspecting the shirt as well, you can clearly see another, more faded version of the symbol in the middle, made of small dots, not very noticeable—but still present.

You don’t know wether to smile or cringe at the outfit as you put it on. You put your changed hair into low pig-tails—the only style you’ve been able to conquer so far—with he blue hair ties Rose gifted you to leave on your wrists for when you need them.

You look yourself over in the mirror a little longer than you used to, trying to recognize yourself.

You have the same eyes, and the same glasses. The same color hair, and the same general nose-type but that’s all you can find.

Your cheeks are more round, your eyes appear bigger, simply due to their position, and your nose a softer version of the one you had before.

You hair is longer, now just passing your shoulders, instead of the cut you had before that barely got to the middle of your neck.

You try smiling.

Your teeth are the same, yet your lips not.

Your eyes crinkle in the same fashion, but still in different ways because of the shape of your face.

Your cheeks are pushed up, and because of how chubby they are now, they push at the bottom of your glasses.

It’s not the same, you think, but it’s close enough. Close enough to still be called John Egbert. John. Not Joan.

You try on a questioning face before leaving the bathroom, executing it at full force.

 

————

 

You are sitting in the pile of pillows and blankets—a blue pair for you, a purple set for Rose, and a green set for Jade (along with many other white pillows underneath your personal ones)—when Jade and Rose make a horrible proposition.

“Joooohn! Come on! They’re just movies!” Jade grabs you by the wrists playfully.

“I’d have to agree with Jade on this one, they _are_  after all, just movies.”  A sly smirk stretches its way across Rose’s face.

“Jade—no! A-and Rose! Stop encouraging her!” You try and pry your wrists from Jade’s iron grip, and fail miserably. A moment too late you realize Rose has turned around and already has a movie in the DVD player. 

You make a ‘humpf’ sound as you pout and bob a little in place, setting to be more comfortable, setting your back against the small sofa you shared with Dave earlier. That thought stings, but you have other things to focus on right now. Like how Jade and Rose just put in a movie that had an EXTREMELY PINK COVER! You do not want that! That will not be fun! Not at all!

“Fine, but this means I get to choose a snack first.” You make the compromise, knowing you won’t be able to get to the two feet to the DVD player without some injuries. Jade and Rose seem pretty set on the crazy idea that watching a couple movies of their choice will lighten your mood—no matter how many times you say that you’re _fine!_  They don’t believe you. But they brought snacks, so it’s not all bad.

“Fine!” Jade gathers all of the snacks and throws it on all of your laps, yours being in the middle. Wow that really is a lot of junk food.

Rose leans in to look at the options, like she didn’t remember what she brought, and says in a tone that’s quiet, but not quite whispering, “I suggest a chocolate treat for you, John.”

You glance at the Fritos you were just about to pick up, and then look at Rose, “why would it even matter?”

Jade, with the no shame that comes with growing up on an island alone, with no regard for volume, turns and says “because you’re on your period, dummy. It helps—just trust us. We would know, don’t you think?”

You feel your face flush as you pick up the Fritos _and_  a bag of Mini Oreos. “Yeah.., I guess…”

Rose picks a bag of Mini Oreos as well,  and Jade picks some jalapeño potato chips. Seriously, you get that she thinks that they’re good, but you can’t stand them.

Jade points the remote at the T.V.,  and presses play.

 

It’s Legally Blonde. 

 

You choke.

 

They laugh.

 

**————**

 

This Elle Woods girl is _a lot_  smarter than she looks. Well, at least she fakes it until she makes it. But it’s good enough, because most of what she’s saying sounds right enough to you.

There’s a scene where Elle talks to the Ex-Husband of the lady who does her nails.

The lady just wants her dog back, because she loves her dog, but her Ex took him when he moved out.

Elle stands up to him, using a bunch (probably, you think) of out-of-place lawyer words to try and convince him that charges could be pressed because he took the dog without her consent (which should totally be a thing if it isn’t already, you think, because it was super unfair.)

When Elle convinces him to give the nice lady the dog, you don’t hiss a “Yisss!” under your breath.

Rose and Jade don’t hear it.

Rose and Jade don’t laugh when you flush, because you don’t.

 

And most certainly of all—you don’t pick the next movie, and the next, and all that follow, before passing out with two sleepy friends by your side, while smiling.

 

In fact, you do none of the above.

At least—you think—you’ll never admit to it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY YOU!  
> YEAH YOU!  
> LOOK AT THIS I FINALLY GOT ANOTHER CHAPTER OUT!  
> YAY!  
> I hope you guys enjoyed it!! I can guarantee another chapter out in a shorter period of time it took me to get this one out--I finally have more time and I'm super happy now that this is out!  
> I hope it was good for you guys!  
> Note: My contacts were updated in the work notes below!  
> I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter!! Can't wait to finish the next one!!  
> Ciao  
> AndAri  
>  **EDIT: (only need to read if you are interested in an editing position!)**  
>  P.S.  
> PESTERLOGS ARE HARD AND TAKE FOREVER.  
> BE GLAD IM IN A PRODUCTIVE MOOD OKAY I DIDNT THINK THEY WERE GOING TO TAKE THIS LONG.  
> Now I know why everyone complains about them.  
> Shit takes forever.
> 
> **SPEAKING OF CODING PESTERLOGS:**  
>  I was thinking, if any of you readers there have some spare time and would like the opportunity to read all the pester logs ahead of time... why not code them for me? Like a beta editor but only for pester logs-- because I already have a fantastic beta (Physic16,) but I don't want to ask that of P16, because P16 has stories of their own to work on!  
> So... How's about it? If you message me on tumblr (personal not art) then i'll send you some trial text (after giving you instructions of course) to see how you do! If any of you are interested, and if you qualify, it'd help get the chapters out a _whole lot_ faster!  
>  (This Pester-Beta position would take only a little bit of HTML coding experience--as long as you understand the basics, you should do fine!)

**Author's Note:**

> Contact me?   
> www.and-ari.tumblr.com
> 
> Art?  
> www.andariart.tumblr.com


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